


A Caramel Coating

by Starffledust



Series: Bunnymund Deals With His Issues [3]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bunny's Egg Train, Canon-Typical Behavior, E. Aster Bunnymund Has Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evil Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood), Gen, It talks. No seriously, It's an egg and I love it, Jack Needs a Hug, Jack being Jack, Minor Original Character(s), North was once a bandit and we cannot forget this, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pooka E. Aster Bunnymund, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team Bonding, Team as Family, The Egg Train!, The Warren (Rise of the Guardians), This takes a lot of detours from focusing on Pitch and Bunny, We'll get back to that after a few thousand words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28537095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starffledust/pseuds/Starffledust
Summary: E. Aster Bunnymund was originally the scholar type, dressed sharply in padded robes and egg-shaped glasses tinted strongly to hide the eyes. He spoke clearly, in a foreign accent gained from the dead language of his people. Aster was an avatar, a being of pure business; there was no soul under all those adornments.But originally was not now.Now he was touched by the grief of life and loss, and all of it is Pitch's fault.
Relationships: E. Aster Bunnymund & Jack Frost, E. Aster Bunnymund & Nicholas St. North
Series: Bunnymund Deals With His Issues [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089344
Kudos: 16





	1. Shells

**Author's Note:**

> Original Conversation that inspired this:
> 
> jukebox_draws: I just need a fanfiction where they go into depth about Bunny and Pitch’s relationship specifically and headcanon that Pitch personally killed Bunny’s family and he’s been haunting Bunny with the memories of his past ever since and they have a personal connection that the other guardians don’t know about because Bunny refuses to talk about his feelings-  
> *proceeds to cry*
> 
> Me: I might write that-
> 
> jukebox_draws: PLZ
> 
> (And I did…)

The darkness lingered at the end of the tunnel, just beyond a corner’s view. It waited, watching.

At the opening between dark passages and the light plants of the Warren, Bunnymund sighed, leaning down to cradle a pink-colored egg shell in his paw. It had splinted from the top edge, and the hairline crack along the sides promised more destruction if he only _squeezed._

_And, oh, it would be so easy. Eggs were such fragile things, after all._

He dropped the shell and jumped out into the brighter grass of the Warren with a shiver. His ears had gone flat, and his heart raced with each heaving breath.

Bunny closed his eyes.

It had been weeks since he had dared set foot in the rubble of last Easter, and it was now weeks after that. He had yet to clear away any of the destruction. Each time he dared get closer, the flashes of shadow and screams gained ground, and images of blood and broken shells filled his mind. The actual debris on the ground would reform and stand again, but Fearlings would play around their edges, sinking deeper into the ground and overtaking his Warren; every new life gone, destroyed, iced over, burned, decimated, washed away, eroded, _dead—_

Bunny exhaled quietly, and his ears raised. They twitched, listening.

Images flashed across his closed eyelids with each discernible noise: the running river, swaying leaves, and little eggs toddling around preparing chocolate or paints. But below it all, below each subtle twinkling of a new hope or treat, slunk a darkness. It drifted through the tunnels, through the floor; it pulsed beneath Bunny’s feet, pushing against the natural life of the Warren.

_Invading. They’re everywhere. Let them in. Let them in. LET THEM IN._

Bunnymund huffed and opened his eyes to the abundant greenery. He chuckled bitterly, turning back to the dark tunnel with a glare. “You damned bastard,” he said levelly. Egg shells, shadowed and broken, flashed in the lowlight of the passage. “You useless corpse, ya can’t keep me from my own tunnels forever!”

The shadows grew closer, but Bunnymund stood his ground.

No, fear could not reach this deep into the Warren. It could destroy as many Easter eggs and baskets as it wanted, but not the Pookan center of his world. It had already tried once, lifetimes upon lifetimes ago, and it had paid dearly.

There was a light tap on his foot, and Bunny looked down. A pure white egg shivered in the grass, crouching with its little legs.

Bunnymund kneeled down, ears cocked to the egg as if it could speak. “You good, mate?” he asked softly, reaching a paw forward to glide along the egg’s fragile shell. “Not painted yet? You new, bub?” The egg relaxed under his touch.

_One grip, and it’ll be gone. Grab it, crush it; so easy._

The egg leaned forward like a friendly cat and hopped once. Impressions of disaster flashed in the back of Bunnymund's mind, and he frowned.

“Show me?” said Bunny.

The egg hopped again and turned away, running through the grass and bushes. Bunnymund followed on light feet, tracking the small rustles of the leaves.

_One wrong step, and the truth is buried. Lose it, lose the egg like all the others, and the shadows will never leave._

Bunnymund grunted as he pushed himself to go faster, keeping pace with the egg’s frantic running.

They had crossed half the Warren when the egg finally slowed, right before the tunnels labeled for the seven continents. Bunnymund stopped and sat at the cliffside overlooking them, memories of colored eggs and frosted grass threatening to usurp his worried thoughts. He turned to the egg with curious ears.

But it only stared back.

“What's the John Dory, mate? Did you actually need me for somethin’?” Bunny prompted. 

The egg swiveled on its short legs, gazing down at the seven tunnels. Foreign words popped like sparklers in Bunny’s mind. One stood out amongst the rest: _Boogeyman._

“Now what does he gotta do with this?” Bunnymund huffed and crossed his arms with a stern look at the egg. 

It cowarded below him. _Fear._

Bunny sighed and leaned down on all fours to look the egg in the eye—or where its eyes would be, anyway. “Look,” he said, “if yer scared of the tunnels, believe me, I'm workin’ on it. Okay? You won't have to see those poor old remains much longer.”

The egg shook like one would shake their head. It hopped and more words flashed in Bunny’s mind.

His fur bristled. “Impossible,” he hissed. “No, that’s not true, just a bunch of porky.”

The egg only shook harder.

“You sure?” Bunnymund glanced warily at the tunnels, then back to the egg. “Fair dinkum?”

The egg nodded vigorously.

Bunny turned to the tunnels and edged a paw closer to a boomerang kept in his bandolier. “Go get backup, tell’em I sent ya,” he told the egg without looking back. When a faint sound of rustling began to fade, he called out again: “Sentinels this time, got it?”

There was no response, but Bunnymund nodded in satisfaction anyway.

He crept closer to the tunnels, hopping down from the hillside and balancing on the dry dirt. His eyes flashed across the different continents and settled on the Americas. 

“Show yourself, you slimy ratbag!” he called and finally reached for the boomerang, twirling it into his palm. 

The shadows did not move.

Bunny stepped into the tunnel, mindful of the broken eggs at his feet. He fought a gag at the rotten smell. “Oi! If yer in my Warren, ya better bail before I find yer ugly face in all that darkness.”

“Not used to this by now?” a laughing voice rang through the ground. A man followed—at least, what used to be a man. His skin was grayed, and shadows hung around him like a robe, dulled eyes sneering. Pitch.

“Used to you around?” Bunny shifted into a fighting stance, boomerang held behind him ready for a throw or punch. Whichever came first. “Nah, mate. Get outta my Warren if ya know what’s good for ya.”

“Oh, so the rabbit knows what’s good for me.” Pitch eyed the boomerang with disdain. One arm hung limply at his side, nightmare bites evident through the tattered darkness of his robe. He smirked and leaned forward. “Too bad he didn't use that ability with everyone else.”

“They can take care o’ themselves.”

“I don't mean your” —he sniffed and gestured away— “little team over with the Frost-boy.”

Bunnymund faltered at that, his eyes dancing away for the briefest moment in confusion. In that second of uncertainty, Pitch had slunk away, and shadow puppets appeared on the tunnel wall without any light source.

“Hey!” Bunny jumped and turned to the wall. “Face me head on, ya bastard! Whaddya mean, everyone else?”

Pitch laughed, a shadow opening its mouth wide with his glee. Its hair was spiked, but the eyes were vacant—not dull or dead, these eyes were born inhuman. This wasn't Pitch the former-man, a puppet of warm flesh and blood; it was pure _fear._

“Whaddya mean?” Bunny yelled again.

The shadow-Pitch did not stop laughing, but its needle-like fingers twirled before it, forming a small rabbit. The shadow-animal set itself into a steady run, not moving forward despite its pushing legs.

Pitch pulled his hands away from the shadow-rabbit and put them behind his back where they disappeared in darkness. “Look at that. They're so pretty when they run, don't you think?”

“Don't play mind games with me,” Bunny growled. But he continued to eye the running rabbit, for its gate was odd compared to Earth creatures. The legs were too long. “What is that?”

“Aw, poor Bunny can't recognize one of his own species?” Pitch’s shadow pouted.

“Nah mate, that's no rabbit there.”

There was silence for a moment. 

Shadow-Pitch scowled. He swiped at the shadow-rabbit with claws, tearing the creation in half as it stiffened with a silent scream. “You really are that dense,” he said, fading away into the darker recesses of the tunnel. “Just like the rest of your kind, I suppose.”

“Hey, face me head on, ya drongo!” Bunnymund stepped forward with a snarl. “You know nothing of my kind!”

Pitch whirled around, returned to flesh and towering above Bunny with the height of shadows. _“I know more than you ever will about those sniveling disgraces,”_ his voice boomed through the tunnel. _“Why do you think I rid the world of them?”_

Bunny stiffened, and his ears dropped completely backward, flat against his head as his fur stood up. “No.” He glared. “No, you’re not supposed to know that.” Bunny backed away as he pulled out his second boomerang. “Who told you about that?”

Pitch laughed and leaned closer, eyes wide and crazed. “Pookas can hide all they want, but even they have fears.” 

Darkness overcame the tunnel then, and Bunny turned with a frantic instinct to find the exit. He looked behind him, where his Warren should be. 

It was gone, replaced by a dirt wall.

Bunnymund turned slowly back to where Pitch had been standing. His stare leveled straight into the shadows. “That rabbit. It was a Pooka.”

“Catching on, I see,” Pitch’s voice sounded from behind him. 

Bunny jumped and pivoted around, regaining his fighting crouch. Pitch stood before the barren wall with a smirk on his face.

“Why?” asked Bunny.

Pitch’s smirk grew wider, like the perfect curve of the Earth as Bunny had molded it. Bunnymund shuttered. 

The shadows crept closer, the darkness threatening to consume the entire space and suffocate Bunny with its terror. He stood his ground with a readjustment of the weapons in his paws.

“Why?” Pitch chuckled. “The last Pooka doesn't know? He can't possibly understand why he is all alone?”

“Because you killed the rest,” Bunnymund replied flatly, a rage buried in the low volume of his tone. “My brethren, blood and not. You slaughtered them—and, _apparently,_ you remember it clear as daylight—but _why_ did you do it?”

Pitch tutted quietly, shaking his head in mock pity. “Why does anyone do anything, great Pooka?” He began to drift back into the shadows, but Bunny lunged forward, boomerangs falling to the ground as he grabbed at Pitch’s neck.

Bunnymund yanked Pitch back into the little light of the tunnel, sustained only by the remaining hopes of the ground. “Answer me!” he cried in the demon’s face.

“Oh, why must you do this, Aster?” Pitch Black, the Boogeyman, Nightmare King and terror of worlds, _pouted_ with a false whimper.

The words rang loudly in Bunny’s sensitive ears, overlaid with ancient memories of his prime, when his race still thrived and Pitch Black was but a thing of the future.

His eyes went wide.

“Oh, why must you go, Aster?” another Pooka had cried once in a different language, their name lost to times of nightmare and grief.

_Oh, why must you go, Aster?_

_The planet needs me there, and the Brotherhood has decided._

_But why, my dear Aster?_

_It’s egg-shaped and heading straight for the sun! Think of all that potential, wasted by gravity._

_Will you be back?_

_When you dream again, darling._

_But that's billions of clucks away!_ a lighter voice split the miserable silence of his mind.

Bunny growled and threw Pitch to the ground.

“Now that sure is interesting.” Pitch sat up and studied Bunnymund with a harsh eye and wicked smile. “Not used to grief either, are you? Would’ve thought the opposite.”

“Stuff it, you worthless shite!” Bunny grabbed frantically at an egg on his bandolier.

“There’s no need for that,” Pitch said calmly, like he wasn't about to be blasted from existence by an angry Pooka.

“I said, stuff it!” Bunnymund chucked the egg in Pitch’s direction, breathing heavily as it flashed with a light mighty enough to blind the stars. Beyond the weaknesses of any mortal form, Bunny stared straight at it with his own flash in his eyes.

When the shockwave of the explosion had settled, Bunnymund blinked in disbelief.

The tunnel was open, and outside stood the little egg from before, flanked by two Egg Warriors who held angered frowns on their stone faces. They switched to warbled lips, static faces worried as Bunny stepped forward, into the gentle light of the Warren.

He glanced at each egg in turn, then crouched down to be more level with the one who had originally found him.

“Nothin’ in there but shells,” he said. “So there’s no need to worry. I'll get’em cleaned up like the clappers, you’ll see.”

The egg wavered for a moment before nodding.

Bunny smiled at the egg and stood, facing the Sentinels with a weary expression. He said nothing, only gave a sharp nod and stepped around them, heading straight for his personal rooms.

He had some thinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks, not a Pitch redemption fic. Just Bunnymund not talking to people about his issues.
> 
> For the flashback bits:
> 
> "Clucks" is a measurement of time mentioned by Bunny in the book E. Aster Bunnymund and the Warrior Eggs at the Earth's Core! They never explain the conversion, but based on context it's probably about a minute.
> 
> Also, in the third book The Sandman and the War of Dreams, Bunnymund mentions that Pookas only dream one night in a thousand years. This implies that they probably sleep in between, but only in short bursts and not deep enough to warrant dreaming. I'd imagine they'd use this as some sort of indicator of time, like we do night and day.


	2. River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunny does a thunk and Jack shows up to mess with him. He's not really there to help, but he might?

E. Aster Bunnymund was originally the scholar type, dressed sharply in padded robes and egg-shaped glasses tinted strongly to hide the eyes. He spoke clearly, in a foreign accent gained from the dead language of his people. Aster was an avatar, a being of pure business; there was no soul under all those adornments.

But originally was not now.

Now Bunnymund was wild, emotional, touched by the compassion of humans and spirits alike. His speech was incomprehensible to half the planet who didn’t come from down under, his species more so. He never once touched his old glasses in the last several hundred years, and that old robe still sat in a stasis closet. He was an individual, and his heart pained him.

That must be why his thoughts refused to quiet.

He sat upon his bed, a collection of soft grasses and furs from creatures long extinct packed together in a nest. It all lay within a small dip of the dirt—egg-shaped, of course. Bunny’s eyes traced the dirt ceiling of his burrow as he laid on his back, conversations and images storming his mind.

_ Will you be back?  _ The memory of a warm pelt made him grip the soft bedding, searching for the presence which had vanished thousands of years earlier.

_ When you dream again, darling.  _ His voice grated on his own ears, the presence of its long-gone dialect sacrilege within his current mind.

_ But that's billions of clucks away! _

Yes, he remembered now. He remembered the piercing stare, the tears, the golden brown fur beside his own. He remembered the smaller, darker body against his—against the golden brown fur as well—the two auras of hope which had been his comfort.

Pitch Black had taken it all.

And now he knew. After all this time, Pitch knew. Did he know all along? He couldn't have; he’d have mentioned it before now, when Bunny was even lower.

_ Or was this his lowest? _

Bunnymund shook his head and stood.

His legs carried his quivering form slowly, churning loose dirt and leaves under him as he struggled to walk on two feet to the Warren’s color lake. What he intended, Bunny could not figure. There was only the high pitched cry of a kit in his mind.

That cry should’ve been of joy, of delight and hope. But, after all this time, he could not remember such a sound.

Bunnymund sat gingerly at the waterline of the creek, its dye swirling as rainbows into the lake nearby. His back hunched to look into the translucent liquid.

It discolored his eyes, which turned green to gray in the water. They were dulled, dead. 

_ Like he should be. _

Bunnymund straightened again and took a calming breath. Except he didn't feel very calm. In fact, his heart ran against his chest, the sound pulsing in his sensitive ears as blood rushed to his head.

No use thinking like that, mate, he said silently to himself, trying to still the thumping. Everything will be apples in a bit, you’ll see.

_ But that's billions of clucks away! _

Bunny groaned as the phantom’s wailing assaulted his ears again. Flashes of a chocolate-colored pelt and a white muzzle towered over his conscience, it's mouth moving to the sound.

_ But that's billions of clucks away!  _ it cried to him.

The image struck his front legs from their place, and Bunny pressed his forehead deep into the grass as a headache dented his temples with pained wrinkles.

_ A cluck is nothing to a Pooka. There’s only a few hundred in a day. _

_ But this is billions! And you’ll be gone for all of them. _

_ You can still see me through the tunnels on dreaming nights. _

_ But that’s not the same! You’ll just leave again! _

Darkness edged into Bunny’s vision. 

_ Oh, so the rabbit knows what’s good for me,  _ it spoke deeply with a chuckle. Shells crunched on the ground, and shadow puppets screamed silently on the mud walls.  _ Too bad he didn't use that ability with everyone else. _

“Shut up!” Bunnymund shouted into the ground, into the grass he had nurtured for centuries. The natural power of the Warren pulsed back with mutual pain at his cries.

There was a moment of silence; his call had faded over the hills. Bunny exhaled in relief and allowed his tense muscles to fall deeper into the soft grass’ embrace.

“Arrr matey!” someone called behind him with rough, false vowels. The voice was light and joyful, but it held a deep tone of disease.

Bunny’s ears perked and swiveled to the sound. “Whaddya want?” he said, muffled by the ground. He picked up his head and stared into the colored water again. His neck pressed deeper into the soil, seeking warmth.

“I dunno.” There was a shifting of hands and cloth as the voice fidgeted. “Just thought I’d stop by to see how the kangaroo’s doing.”

“Not a kangaroo. And I’m doin’ fine, mate.”

“Yeahhhh,” the syllable lengthened sarcastically, making Bunny grimace. “You see, you say that, then… Well, you’re kinda falling into the river there.”

“Not falling,” said Bunnymund. He finally turned to the voice, sniffing at how close he stood. “You need anything?”

Jack stared at him with a strange expression. Then he shrugged. “Not really.” One of his hands fell into a hoodie pocket as he leaned against his staff. “Just thought you'd want company, what with how it's been going around here lately.”

“And how’s it been goin’ exactly?” Bunny pushed himself up, sitting straight on his back legs. If Jack was here—without obvious cause, he should add—it only meant one thing. And it wasn't Jack wanting to keep anyone company. “Something happen topside?”

“Wha—” Jack breathed a false laugh, and Bunny turned to him with a curious eye. “Noooo.”

“Really?” asked Bunny.

“Seriously, it's all fine.” Jack hovered up, the wind rustling lightly through the grass. “Actually, it's great. Middle of winter, lots of snow days.” He shrugged. “Just thought I could help. Maybe talk to you. I dunno, man. Give me something here.”

Bunnymund shook his head, but he did smile for the first time of the day. “Fine,” he said. “Wanna help with the tunnels?” Bunny finally stood to his full height, ears flattening contently. He began to walk to the nearest tunnel, motioning for Jack to follow. “I was workin' on them earlier when I got distracted by one o’ the new googies.” 

_ Distracted. Blocked walls were more than a mere distraction. With blocked walls, fear creeps in, past the guards and plants. An egg is left alone, so small and fragile, shaking and hopping with silent urgency. No one can hear. _

Bunnymund took quicker steps to hide a shiver. 

Jack stumbled onto the ground behind him, jogging to keep pace. “Is that how you ended up by the river?” he asked.

“That has nothin’ to do with it,” Bunny hissed.

“Mhm.” Jack nodded and rolled his eyes. “Sure it doesn't.”

Bunnymund stopped with a huff and turned to look Jack in the eye. “Mate, if you know something I don't, just spit it out already.”

Jack quieted. He spun his staff in one hand, staring down at his shifting feet in contemplation. He glanced up and assessed Bunny with a cautious frown.

Bunny stiffened. “What is it?”

But Jack only shook his head and hovered up again, his hands twiddling on the wood of his staff. The frost thickened along its surface and seeped into the cracks with a cyan glow. “It's nothing, really.”

“Look,” Bunny groaned, rubbing his eyes with a paw, “I've had a taxing day already. You wanna add to that with secrets?”

“No!”

“Then hack up what yer trying to say, ya gumby!”

“I—” Jack glanced around frantically, looking at the different plants as if they could provide a distraction. “Well, you know. I don't—”

Bunnymund stepped closer with a glare. 

“Pitch got out!” Jack shrieked loudly, the sound wringing through the Warren’s hills. He clutched his staff tightly to his side with both hands.

Bunny’s ears went flat.

“I'm sorry!” Jack continued. “I know I should’ve told you immediately, but it's just that I don't even know how much you’d actually care. And I did only see him for a second—in a shadow, no less! —but I would've thought he’d be down with his nightmares a while longer, and I wanted to tell someone—”

Bunny blinked. “Jack,” he tried.

“—so, I came to you, since you would listen and would know how to contact the others if we needed to—”

“Jack!”

“—but then I saw you laying there, and you started talking and  _ obviously  _ you were irritated. I should've expected that, but I didn't, so I didn't want to tell you, and—”

Bunnymund placed a gentle paw on Jack’s shoulder. 

Jack ceased his rambling immediately and went stiff under the touch. He glanced cautiously up at Bunnymund.

“Jack,” Bunny said softly. “It's okay. I know.”

“I know, I—” He paused. “You do?” Jack whispered, face pressed closer to his staff and eyes trained on Bunny as if he would disappear.

_ But it was already too late for that. _

“Yes.” Bunnymund sighed. “Came to give me a fright in one o’ me tunnels. Couldn't get through with cleaning even one.”

Jack’s mouth rounded in a silent  _ oh.  _ “Are you alright?” he asked with squinting eyes, looking Bunny over for harm.

“Just fine, mate.” Bunnymund turned to their path again.

“Wait,” Jack called out, and Bunny stopped walking for the second time. He glanced behind him, to the boy whose smirk out-aged his own face. “Is that why you face-planted near the river?” Jack’s hand came up to cover an obvious giggle.

“Shut up, or I’m sendin' you back to the surface,” Bunny grumbled lightly, beginning to walk forward again.

The wind blew through his fur, and a gleeful shout rang through the Warren, frost patterns dancing quietly along the edges: 

“Got it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (From last chapter) "Clucks" is a measurement of time mentioned by Bunny in the book E. Aster Bunnymund and the Warrior Eggs at the Earth's Core! They never explain the conversion, but based on context it's probably about a minute.
> 
> Also, I personally choose to believe that Pitch doesn't really remember a lot of his backstory. In the books it's a whole plot device that he doesn't remember being Kozmotis or having a daughter, and in the movie it really seems like he doesn't even remember all the genocide he was doing up in space. 
> 
> Tl;dr: Pitch doesn't remember too much, but he's slowly getting his memory back and it's making Bunny concerned.


	3. World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s eyes widened in wonder. He dropped his arms, leaning further into Bunny’s personal space. “Wait, is that what you meant with the whole ‘Oh yeah, life is boring because I’m old’ thing?” He paused. Frost began to cover the ground with his realization. “Wait, you said older than the PLANET! That was literal?”
> 
> “Entirely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really short, but I already have the next two written so I'll post those soon enough.

“Maybe if you cleaned up more often, we wouldn't have this problem,” Jack complained across the expanse of grass.

Bunnymund gasped and whipped his head to look disapprovingly at Jack. “My Warren was perfectly clean before you lot came here with all yer swords and hyper-active ankle-biters, I tell ya! Turning it into a joke of a dog’s breakfast. Just look at this, Frost!” He pointed to a nearby Sentinel, its surface shrouded in vines and huddled in a dip of the ground. Along its top, ice gradually melted, water running into the carved eyes and soaking into the moss. “Yer gonna drown all the foliage at this rate!”

“Just a bit of winter never killed anyone.” Jack tapped his staff against a rock, watching a thin layer of frost bloom. “Now the big stuff, that's what you have to watch out for.”

“Blizzard of ‘68,” Bunnymund huffed.

From his place across the field, Jack didn't hear the comment. “Yeahhhhh,” he continued instead. “The other winter spirits aren’t too kind to flowers and stuff.”

“Other winter spirits?” Bunnymund turned, but Jack wasn’t looking as he fiddled with his staff. “There’re more?”

Jack startled, wide eyes turning to Bunny. “What? Of course there is! They might not be as great as yours truly,” he smirked, putting a hand on his chest, “but they exist.”

Bunnymund hummed, chest thrumming painfully. How had he not known this? He’d been aware of Jack Frost for nigh two hundred years before the whole fiasco with Pitch; he should know at least this!

“Huh,” he said simply.

“Huh?” Jack echoed.

Bunny laughed softly, shaking his head. 

_ Ignore it. _

“Sorry, mate.” Bunny brushed a paw over his head, smoothing the fur on his ears. “I guess I’m just not used to being left out of the loop. When you’ve been around longer than the planet itself, things tend to get routine after a while. But new spirits!” Bunnymund shook his head again, moving to gather a bundle of broken eggshells into the basket at his feet. “Let’s just hope we don’t see that moonrock again anytime soon.”

“Moonrock? When did you get to see a moonrock?”

Oh, right. The choice had happened without Jack. It was  _ about  _ Jack, back when they hadn’t known each other beyond a few harsh words and a deadly blizzard.

He could remember the disdain in his own voice as he spoke those simple words:  _ Jack Frost? _

“Guardian choosing ceremony. As much of a ceremony as it is…” Bunny picked up the basket. “I admit, we never had to use it before. Manny used to ask more directly and then there’d be a battle and an initiation.” He looked off into the distance, at the phantom memories of the early Guardians. “So many battles…”

“Okayyyy,” Jack drawled slowly, stepping forward. “This is the Moon, you’re talking about, right?”

“Of course.” He turned back to Jack, who was frowning.

“Man in the Moon?” His eyes flashed dangerously, the seams of wood on his staff glowing faintly with an ancient light as cold as lakewater. “The guy who refused to talk to me for three hundred years, Man in the Moon?”

Bunnymund’s fur fought to bristle under his crumbling self-restraint.

_ You forgot? How could you forget, old fool? _

“Now,” Bunny snapped, at the voice or Jack he didn’t know, “listen here ya showpony, this was a long time ago. Things were different then.”

He half expected the voice to respond, but it didn’t.

Jack laughed bitterly. “Different? Yeah right. How different could it be? Pitch was still a complete nuisance to children and I don’t see you being much nicer with time.” His smile turned genuine and teasing with the last comment, but it fell when Bunny glared down at the dirt. “You good, kangaroo?”

_ A cluck is nothing to a Pooka. There’s only a few hundred in a day. _

“More can change in a single night with fear than in thousands of years of peace.” Bunnymund picked up one of the broken shells, holding it gently in one paw.

“And you’d know wouldn’t you?” The question was not angry.

Bunny’s eyes slid slowly to regard Jack, who crouched down next to him with a neutral expression. “Yes,” he said. “Too well.”

Jack hummed and turned his head out to the expanse of the Warren, not looking at anything on the Earthly plane. The air around him grew colder, more foreign, and there was only a smidge of comforting joy left in the faint glimmer of his eyes. “Tell me about it?” he asked quietly.

Bunnymund shook his head.

Slouching in disappointment, Jack glanced away in thought. When he looked back to Bunny, a determination flashed in his eyes. “Tell me how you became a Guardian,” he said louder, definitely.

“It’s not interesting.”

“I want to hear it,” said Jack.

Bunny inhaled deeply. “It’s not the kind of story you’re hoping for.” His ears went down, pressed against his flattened fur.

“And what am I hoping for?”

“Action, drama. Some rekindling of past happiness?”

“I was thinking more lasers.”

Bunny raised a brow. “Really, mate?”

“What?” He put up his hands. “North keeps talking about a space war or something. I thought that’d be your story, because that’s how the Guardians are even a  _ thing— _ because the Moon was all ‘And  _ you  _ will be my minion, mortal!’” He raised his arms higher in a demanding point, and his voice dropped into an inaccurate impression of the Tsar Lunar’s voice. “‘I give thee eternal life! Think of the children!’”

Bunny scoffed internally. “Actually, Sandy and I were pretty much immortal already.”

Jack’s eyes widened in wonder. He dropped his arms, leaning further into Bunny’s personal space. “Wait, is that what you meant with the whole ‘Oh yeah, life is boring because I’m old’ thing?” He paused. Frost began to cover the ground with his realization. “Wait, you said older than the PLANET! That was  _ literal?” _

“Entirely.”

“Uhh.” Jack gaped.

“Look, mate.” Bunny rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s a long story I don’t wanna get into. All ya need to know is that I’ve seen quite a few things, and almost all o’ the bad ones have been either Pitch’s or my own fault. End of story. North can tell ya the parts that happened on Earth, though I don’t trust he won’t embarrass me terribly with it.

Jack frowned. “But I wanted lasers.”

Bunnymund shot him a deadpanned glare. “Guess you don’t want to hear about my egg train, then.” He stood up on two legs, grabbing the basket of shells and walking back to the river. “No lasers in that one; you'd hate it.”

“Wait!” Jack shot into the air, gripping his staff. “There’s an  _ egg train?!” _

Bunny smiled smugly as he walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yet another Egg Train reference. Don't worry, I'm actually writing it in this fic later, not just mentioning it like I've done before. It is time.
> 
> Also, this is not a Jackrabbit fic. All of the others will have their moments with Bunny, too.


	4. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You're leaving?” Jack called to his retreating back. “Just like that?”
> 
> Bunnymund stumbled on his path, but quickly righted himself with an indignant grunt. He turned back to see Jack still laying down, his head lifted up to stare back at piercing Pookan eyes.
> 
> “Bunny,” Jack sat up as he spoke, leaning his upper body on his staff, “are you okay?"

“I think we’re gonna need more help.”

Bunnymund’s ears perked. His hands immediately stiffened and dropped the egg he had been moving. The little thing scurried away as he rested back on his haunches, stretching his neck over to the sound. “Whaddya gettin’ at?” he called.

_ Help. Help,  _ a chant ran. Bunny ignored it.

Jack shrugged from his place sprawled on the grass, just a few feet away, where he had ungracefully flopped down after he finished clearing leaves from the open grass. 

Bunnymund moved slowly, crouching down next to him.

“It just doesn’t seem like we’re getting that far, really,” said Jack, not visibly registering Bunny’s movements. “How long has it been? A day? Two? A week? We are wasting our lives!”

Bunny glanced at the ceiling, where the light still shone brightly throughout the caverns of the Warren, just the same as the last time he had checked. “It’s been not even twenty minutes, mate.” He turned back to give Jack a pointed look, fur relaxing from its stressed prickling.

_ Watching. Help. _

Jack groaned and shot him a glare. “And I’m dying.”

“You're not dying, Frostbite.”

A hand slapped him gently in the face, and Bunny blinked in surprise.

“Oh cruelty!” Jack cried dramatically, hand moving from Bunny’s head to reach for the ceiling. His glistening eyes stared with false vacancy, a light sheen of mischief glimmering along the surface. “The pain as time marches on! And I am bound to the work of a laborer!”

Bunnymund stifled a snort. “Yeah, it’s a hard life, ain’t it?” He patted Jack on the shoulder. “Come on, we better get into a groove if we’re ever gonna finish all this cleaning in time.”

“I don't wannaaaa.” Jack grasped at the staff beside him, rolling to his side and embracing it with his legs.

With a sigh, Bunny rolled his eyes. “Fine. Stay down there. Come get me when ya actually feel like helpin’.” He gave Jack one more hard glare before turning away to reinvestigate the tunnels.

“You're leaving?” Jack called to his retreating back. “Just like that?”

_ You can still see me through the tunnels on dreaming nights. _

_ But that’s not the same! You’ll just leave again! _

Bunnymund stumbled on his path, but quickly righted himself with an indignant grunt. He turned back to see Jack still laying down, his head lifted up to stare back at piercing Pookan eyes.

_ Oh, why must you go, Aster?  _ The vision returned of honeyed fur and a gentle stare of the deep forests.

The chilling blue of Jack’s own stare pulled him quickly out of the memory. The eyes were too bright, too young; they weren't the ones he had lost, but they may as well be for how they stared at him now with worry.

“Bunny,” Jack sat up as he spoke, leaning his upper body on his staff, “are you okay? We don't have to actually clean anything today, you know? It can't be that urgent.” He patted the grass next to him. “We can lay here and think instead. We don't even have to talk. We can just sit here in silence.”

_ Help. Help. _

“The Warren won't clean itself,” Bunnymund said, quieter than he meant. He glanced down at a nearby bush, which rustled in the light breeze.

“The tunnels will still be there when you're done getting over… whatever this is,” said Jack. “You need the help, you know? Not just with the Warren.” He trailed off, quieting.

A new memory assaulted Bunny’s senses, summoned by the words. 

_ There was no help then,  _ a faint voice cried.

This time, the memory was  _ vivid:  _ Colors and scents ignited fireworks in every corner of his mind, and reality fell away for the spectacle—for a high-pitched chant of sorrow as his feet hit the dirt, as a rip in time and space opened for him to step there. 

A new Warren, deep green and yellow with autumn, grew colder and colder as tunnels closed behind him. Shadows filled in the bright gaps of the universe.

_ ASTER!  _ someone screamed, but the webbing of space would not bend under his own curving hopes. Blurred images of old warrens and buildings flashed around him, his body and mind stuck in a limbo as blows rang out from shadow and light.

He had tried. He had tried so many times now.

But even Pookas could not change the past.

Each time, he watched. Each time, he suffocated in the space between hope and desolate future. Each time, he could feel the minds of so many severe from his own in their pain. And, each time, there remained nothing; only a dead Warren on a yet-living planet called Earth.

He was alone.

“BUNNY,” someone shouted, and a rough weight knocked him to the ground.

Ever the trained warrior, Bunny fought easily through the memory, twisting to bury claws into the skin of his attacker.

A sharp winnie finally brought back his senses. He gasped and looked up at the enemy—its golden eyes and dark, glittering hide—and Bunnymund kicked it off with one leg.

He hopped up quickly, grabbing at his back for a weapon. His paw wrapped around a hilt of wood, and Bunnymund pulled the ancient knife from behind his back.

The Nightmare growled at him (very much unlike a normal horse), huffing in disappointment as it stood from where it, too, had fallen on its side. It slowly started to circle him.

Bunny kept his movements slow, shifting into a protective stance against the Nightmare. He did not break his stare, reaching to his back again in search of a boomerang.

But, before he could even touch the familiar wood, a loud boom rang out, and a shot of pale blue shattered the Nightmare on the ground. The vile sand stuck together and flattened from the blast.

Cursory senses still lingered; the smell of death and sweat from running clung to his imagination even as he regained his bearings. Bunnymund let his arm fall with a slow exhale and turned back to Jack. Immediately, Bunny’s breath hitched, and his feet moved quickly toward him.

Jack’s wide eyed stare did not reassure Bunnymund in any way—alien or human—and he was still aiming his staff at the creature. The cracks in the wood glowed blue with restrained power.

Bunny came up to him, leaning to meet his vacant eyes. “You good, mate?” he asked, worry rumbling in his throat.

Jack did not tear his eyes away, but he did nod slowly, finally lowering the weapon.

Putting away the knife, Bunny stepped closer to Jack. He laid both paws on his shoulders. “I think it's about time you saw that train, dontcha think?” he said.

Jack didn't smile, gaze sliding over to the frozen fear on the ground.

“Frostbite?”

“Yeah,” Jack nodded again. “Yeah, let's do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still a Bunny story, I swear. Jack just needs some attention first. I think we're almost done with his role in the story, so you should start seeing the others more often, and we'll focus back onto Bunny.
> 
> This part has been written for a while now, I just couldn't find a feasible way of making it not-filler. It was mostly just a bunch of Jack dramatics at the beginning.
> 
> For the backstory-flashback bit, there are chapters planned to better explain that if it confused you here. :)
> 
> P.S. Don't worry, the Nightmare isn't a fluke, and it does have a reason.


	5. Poles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North placed his hands on his hips with a large grin. “Is a wonderful invention,” he said and patted Bunny on the shoulder. “Not as good as sleigh, but good.”
> 
> Bunny’s mouth opened wide with an insulted grimace. “You take that back!” He pointed at North, who advanced toward the train's rounded engine, oblivious to Bunny’s threat.
> 
> “Yes, is good,” North repeated, touching a hand to the metal side.
> 
> “You just compared her to your wooden deathtrap!”
> 
> “Because it’s good!”
> 
> “And eggy,” Jack added, peering up at the rounded engine.

“Now, this beaut, she can run all over the world through me tunnels, and she's the first and only of her kind!”

Jack didn't look up from his feet as they walked, humming absently as Bunnymund rambled to him about the train.

“She actually inspired me to help you humans with the locomotive back in the nineteenth century.” Bunny continued to speak, gesturing widely with a spark of interest in his eye. He elbowed Jack teasingly in the side. “Bet ya didn’t know that was Pookan tech, did ya?”

“Mhm.” Jack said to the ground.

Bunny’s ears drooped in disappointment.

A loud  _ clang _ raised them again.

“Strewth!” Bunnymund dropped to all fours, rushing forward. “I’m gonna kill that pile o’ rotten bikkies!”

“Pile of what now?” Jack called from behind him, blinking out of his stupor and taking to the air.

It was mere seconds (Bunny silently thanked his Pookan speed) before the tunnel opened to a large cave, all dirt with shade-loving flowers littered around the walls. On the ground lay a track of wood and gleaming metal, and on that rest a large, rounded contraption.

Bunny zeroed in on the foreign figure dressed in red who was idly inspecting the train tracks.

Without pausing from his run, Bunnymund leapt and shoved the figure off his feet. They both tumbled across the side of the track with twin shouts of anger and surprise.

“What did I tell ya ‘bout me train, ya drongo?” Bunnymund growled at the intruder.

“ Prokofiev!  Bunny! What a nice surprise!”

Jack finally flew into the room, breathing just a tad heavier than normal. “North?” he huffed and landed heavily beside the two. “What are you doing here?” His eyes squinted like he had just awoken.

“Yeah,” Bunny shot North a stricter glare from above, “what’re you doin’ in my Warren, mate?”

North shrugged—awkwardly, as Bunny was still lying on top of him and pinning his upper arms—and he smiled with natural congeniality. “You know how workshop is. So much work and invention, no time for sitting and viewing. So, I am inspecting train!” He flicked a wrist to the giant train which rested beside them on the track. “Still runs perfectly, 300-something years strong!”

“I damn well know that, mate. It's my train!”

“Ah, but consider, my friend—” North paused with a finger raised. He glanced away and scrunched his eyes to some uncertain spot in the distance. With a sigh, he lowered his finger. “I have forgotten. But I assure you that I did no harm. Now, will you do me favor and stop laying on me?”

Bunnymund startled, ears reaching straight toward the cieling. His hands, still pinning North’s arms to the ground, tightened instinctually. “Right…” he muttered, prying his paws away. He slowly stood to his full height on two legs. 

North immediately swung himself onto his feet. “Thank you!” He turned to Jack and pulled the startled boy into a hug. “Is good to see you! Both of you—even when Bunny knocks out breath.”

Bunny huffed, crossing his arms. “You deserved it.”

“I certainly did not!” North’s tone did not change from its joyful manner as he dropped Jack and turned back to the train. He placed his hands on his hips with a large grin. “Is a wonderful invention,” he said.

“Damn right she is,” said Bunnymund.

North patted him on the shoulder, and Bunny pushed his feet into the ground to keep balance. “Not as good as sleigh, but good.”

Bunny’s mouth opened wide with an insulted grimace. “You take that back!” He pointed at North, who advanced toward the train's rounded engine, oblivious to Bunny’s threat.

“Yes, is good,” North repeated, touching a hand to the metal side.

“You just compared her to your wooden deathtrap!”

“Because it’s good!”

“And eggy,” Jack added, peering up at the rounded engine.

Bunnymund smiled, the light returning to his eyes. “Eggs are the best shape, mate. Aerodynamic, sturdy if done right, symbolic. They even—” 

He paused when North rolled his eyes over to Jack, twirling a finger near his head.

A growl forced its way through Bunny’s chest. “It’s called art, ya bludger! What would you know of it?” He turned away and stalked toward the train, pressing a hand into the side of one of the cars. A panel slid away to make an entrance.

“Is good train, Bunny,” North called from behind, his footsteps growing closer. There was a pause as he hopped into the open compartment. His head swiveled at all the boxes and small, padded seats on the sides. “But egg shape is very strange. Why not panel walls?”

Bunnymund’s ear twitched in irritation as he continued down the car. He paused at the door separating them from the engine. Small scuttles tapped from inside, but otherwise the train was silent, her mechanisms resting.

He turned back to North and Jack, the latter of whom hovered at the back of the car, hesitantly lifting up the flap of a box. “News flash, mate,” Bunnymund’s frown deepened, “cubes are one of the worst shapes for building. They require bases and precise cuts. Eggs don’t need all that. Just a tip and a larger bottom, round her out a bit—viola! The perfect shape.”

“But why is egg the perfect shape?” North crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Is very hard for engineer to make dome or circle. How would egg be different?”

Bunnymund paused, and his nose scrunched incredulously. “You’re tellin’ me that human engineers don’t use eggs?” he said.

“They do not. Closest is cathedral dome in Italy or onion dome in Russia. But first is not smaller on one side, and second is not rounded.”

A moment passed where Bunny only stared, disgust plain on his face. North was an inventor—a once-human one at that—so he was the most reliable source around. Bunny had no choice but to believe him. “No wonder you’re all dyin’ from global warming.” He shook his head and turned back to the door. “No eggs! I can’t imagine what those architects are thinkin’ of themselves.” His paw came up automatically, tapping a quick knock at the door.

North was silent.

After a few moments, the cabin door slid open, and an egg the height of Bunny’s hip stood behind the threshold. “Deghmoum,” Bunny addressed it with a nod.

The egg jumped up, jostling the harness around its top, which held a bundle of keys and a short metal pole.

Bunnymund shook his head. “Nah, it’s nothing important, bud. Just a routine interest in Pooka tech.” He gestured pointedly to North and Jack with his eyes.

Deghmoum nodded and backed away from the door in invitation.

“Hey, Kangaroo,” Jack called from one of the back windows just as Bunny was about to step into the engine. “Are we gonna drive the train?”

Bunny stepped away, turning to cross his arms with a stern look in Jack’s direction. “I—a bunny—am going to drive, Frostbite. You and Mr. Cubes get to watch.” He gestured to North, whose eyes went wide at the name.

“Neat!” Jack jumped into the air, flying past Bunny into the engine, messing up his well-groomed fur.

Bunnymund stood in shock for a moment. Then, with a sigh, smoothed out the fur that had been ruffled. He turned to Deghmoum. “Better secure any breakables in there,” he said.

Deghmoum stared at where Jack had disappeared, then at Bunnymund. Its legs shook with worry, the metal around its head rattling.

“Come on, Cubes, Kangaroo.” Jack’s head appeared from the side of the doorway. “Don’t stand there being rotten eggs!” He glanced quickly down at Deghmoum and quickly added, “no offense.” Then he was gone again, across the room and looking out the front windows of the egg train.

Bunnymund sighed and stepped past Deghmoum. “Hopefully she stays intact long enough to walk there.”

“Mr. Cubes,” North muttered irritably, following Bunny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> North is here to steal the train! Yayyyyy :D


	6. Elysian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yooo it talks?” Jack jumped into the air, hovering closer to the curved ceiling. He tapped his staff against the metal and smiled at the satisfying, hollow sound.
> 
> “Yes, she talks. Get down!” Bunnymund grabbed at Jack’s leg and yanked him to the ground. He rubbed a paw against his face in exasperation. “You’re gonna damage her with all that prodding.”
> 
> “Awwww, come on, Bunny.” Jack pouted from the ground, staff balancing along his lap. “I wanna talk to—what was it? —her? I wanna talk to her!”
> 
> Bunnymund glared at him a moment. “Sheila,” he turned back to the consol, “entertain Frost for a minute, please. Stars know we’re not gonna get any peace otherwise. I'll hold over the meters.”
> 
> A hum rang through the cabin, and the lights turned a light purple. “There is nothing to say but to say there is nothing,” said the train, the robotic voice replaced by a much more level and natural one.
> 
> “Ah!” North spread his arms with a frown. “Train is like you when we first met! Too many riddles!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally longer but I split it in two and made the second half Chapter 7. It just flows better that way, I think.

The wheels screeched loudly, a low horn blowing in warning. The subtle lighting in the engine flickered.

“NORTH. HANDS OFF THE CONTROLS!” Bunnymund yanked North away from the console, restraining any reaching hands with his own paws. The train continued to rattle forward, much too fast.

“Yeah, North! Kangaroo can handle his own!”

Bunnymund turned to Jack with a growl, paw still wrapped firmly on North’s arm, which struggled to grab at a nearby lever. “Ya wanna call me that again?” he replied lowly.

Jack leaned against his staff, already looking bored. “Sure, Kangaroo.” His eyes smiled, even when his mouth did not.

Deghmoum ran past, hitting a button on the wall which returned the lights to full power. The train continued to careen forward.

Without taking an angered eye off Jack, Bunny grabbed at a lever (the same one North was trying to touch) and pulled it back. Immediately, the train slowed from its great speeds. The wheels continued on the track, but now they were silent and smooth.

There was a  _ thunk  _ as Deghmoum rolled to the back of the cabin and hit the wall. It shook itself and jumped back up with a small nod at Bunny’s concerned look.

Seeing that his egg was not damaged, Bunnymund released North’s arm. “What did I tell ya immediately before I started the train?” he spat.

“Do not touch,” North repeated Bunny’s earlier words, his eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“And?” Bunny crossed his arms.

“And egg touched.” North pointed to Deghmoum, who had moved back to his place near the window, where he overlooked the energy and path of the train, making sure the track was clear. “So, I also break rule with egg.”

Bunny sighed dramatically. “He” —he pointed to Deghmoum— “can touch it, because he is the Conductor and assigned caretaker o’ me train.” He pointed at North next. “But you are a passenger who just so happens to be in proximity of the controls.”

“Are very tempting.” North nodded with a smile.

There was a beeping sound, one Bunnymund knew well from training courses and emergency landings in ancient ships. From behind him Jack let out a whoop, and the warm lights emanating from the ceiling dimmed.

Bunny whirled around. “What did—” His limbs stiffened, eyes widening. Jack’s finger remained pressed against a bright green button. Another beep emanated, stronger and much more dangerous.

Deghmoum stood nearby, keys clinking together quietly as he shook with nervous energy. He, too, knew what that sound meant.

Jack glanced between the stunned Bunny and the button. He smirked. “Sorry, Kangaroo, couldn't get that.”

Bunnymund surged forward, knocking Jack away from the button and pressing another one nearby. A small, lower beep emanated from the consol, and the lights returned to their full power.

“Action cancelled,” a low, robotic voice said from the walls.

Bunny let out a sigh, slumping his arms against the console. His forehead thunked against the top. “That was close,” he mumbled, trying to rid his mind of scrap metal and screaming passengers.

“Yooo it  _ talks?”  _ Jack jumped into the air, oblivious to Bunny’s turmoil as he hovered closer to the curved ceiling as if anything there could give him a clue to the voice’s presence. He tapped his staff against the metal, smiling at the satisfying, hollow sound.

“Yes, she talks. Get down!” Bunnymund grabbed at Jack’s leg and yanked him to the ground. He rubbed a paw against his face in exasperation. “You’re gonna damage her with all that prodding.”

“Awwww, come on, Bunny.” Jack pouted from the ground, staff balancing along his lap. “I wanna talk to—what was it? —her? I wanna talk to her!”

Bunnymund glared at him a moment. “Sheila,” he turned back to the consol, “entertain Frost for a minute, please. Stars know we’re not gonna get any peace otherwise. I'll hold over the meters.”

A hum rang through the cabin, and the lights turned a light purple. “There is nothing to say but to say there is nothing,” said the train, the robotic voice replaced by a much more level and natural one.

“Ah!” North spread his arms with a frown. “Train is like you when we first met! Too many riddles!”

“She's Pooka built, ya drongo.” Bunnymund rolled his eyes, ears swiveling over to North. “Has most o’ the same speech mannerisms.”

“Hey, train!” Jack stared up at the ceiling with a grin. “What's your name?”

“I have no legal registrations, but Aster has engraved the name  _ Elysian _ into my controls. I suppose that might be my name.”

“Like in myth of fields?” said North.

“I am a train and do not read,” said Elysian. “I know no such myths, especially not any of a field or fields.”

“Oh, I know this one.” Jack’s hand shot up eagerly. “It's this religious Greek thing, I think. They talk about it sometimes in Hoboken, since Elysian Fields—not  _ the  _ Elysian Fields, but it was named for it—is famous for baseball games.” He shrugged. “I'm well travelled. Anyway! It's this Greek thing, right? Like a heaven for good souls.”

“Somethin’ like that,” Bunny muttered.

“Why name train for field?” asked North.

Imaginations of dark green eyes filled Bunnymund’s vision, blurring the controls before him. Empty tunnels stretched throughout his mind, entombing him into a memory long lost.

_ ASTER! ASTER WHERE ARE YOU? _

“Just felt like it,” he said nonchalantly, his voice steady even if all he wanted was to whine. “Elysium is the field where the immortal flower grows. It felt right…”

_ Not so immortal when she’s dead. _

Bunnymund swallowed and amended quickly, “You know, being spirits and such ourselves.”

“You mean asphodels?” said North. He turned to Jack. “Asphodel is immortal flower, right?”

Bunnymund stiffened at the name.

_ It’ll be all right, Azzie,  _ his own voice said, younger and so foolish.

“Asphodel?” Elysian said quietly, contemplative. Because she knew. Of course she did, Bunnymund had built her at a time when his grieving mouth ran faster than his logic. 

She said nothing.

_ Only silence now. _

“Yeah,” Bunny mumbled to himself. “Yeah, that’s right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've got a process now. I've just been backlogging chapters and posting the drafted one when I input the new one. So I'll have saved this as a draft when I post Chapter 5. It's kinda working :)
> 
> And yes, I named the train. Yes, Bunnymund named her for his dead mate. No, I will not apologize.
> 
> We're actually getting a plot here soon, don't worry.


End file.
